Waking Dreams
by Winter Bean
Summary: Surely Lady Murasaki was still alive during SOTL, so what were her thoughts on Buffalo Bill, the FBI, Hannibal and Clarice?
1. The Lady and the Paper

Hey all! It's the obligatory Authors note, basically I just saw Hannibal Rising and thought to myself after coming home and watching Silence of the Lambs, what was Muraski's take on the events in SOTL and Hannibal? Surely she was still alive?

So this formed from my brainchild, I have taken some liberties with the characters ages etc… for example I placed Lady Murasaki's age of around sixty or so during the events of SOTL, and Hannibal's age around forty five or so. But I do know that Clarice is twenty five and I haven't changed her age.

I don't know if I will continue this piece, but if an upwards of three people (if I even get three reviews) ask me to do so I will. So without further adieu I give to you the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters.

* * *

1975

Lady Murasaki could not remember feeling true fear until the night she saw Hannibal Lecter kill before her. She hadn't been afraid during the war, or when her husband died, but now as she stared in muted horror at the newspaper in front of her she felt that feeling once again.

The Headline simply said: **Hannibal the Cannibal**, and she knew, she knew it was Lecter, a part of her wanted to cry, cry because of what he had done, for the people that he had killed, but most of all she wanted to cry because still after all these years she still loved him.

Lady Murasaki purchased the American paper before hurrying back to her lovely Parisian apartment. In the following weeks Lady Murasaki became obsessed with any news of the Lecter trial, her obsession only deepened after she saw her own name appear in _The Tattler. _

Luckily the article mentioned no specifics, only that she had for a time been Lecter's guardian, but still a week later she found Detective Popil knocking at her door. Popil had been just as polite as she had remembered him. He merely requested her to testify in the Lecter case, after she declined though he had invited her out for dinner which she accepted.

At almost sixty years old Lady Murasaki was still an attractive woman, and even though her date with Popil went well they remained only as friends. She knew that Hannibal was not insane but it did not surprise her when Hannibal got away with his murders by plea of insanity.

For the next few months she heard almost nothing of Hannibal, except of when Popil informed her of his incarceration at a Baltimore asylum and of Lecter's vicious assault on a nurse. In fact Murasaki heard, nor read anything on Hannibal Lecter until nearly eight years later.

* * *

She wasn't looking for Hannibal in any of the papers that she bought, but had by chance accidentally picked up _The Baltimore Sun_ instead of her usual magazines. She was home by the she realized her mistake, but it was of no consequence to her. She didn't own a television so perhaps this paper would give her some insight into current events.

She was merely glancing through the paper; a few names caught her eye, Buffalo Bill, Dr. Chilton, an American organization the FBI. Finally she saw his name, Hannibal Lecter, her heart stopped for a moment. The papers fluttered to the ground, in the corner of the article there was a picture of him, it must have been taken before his incarceration, He looked handsome even in the poor printing of the paper she was able to make out the hypnotic shade of maroon of his eyes, and the sheen of his pure jet black hair.

Fervently she picked up the paper once more, reading quickly, she began to gather together a story. She learned of the sadistic killer, Buffalo Bill, a killer that the papers implied skinned his victims. But the part that intrigued her most was who Lecter had chosen to be his messenger; it was a woman, (well more like a girl from what she read) according to the papers a rookie FBI agent. There was a picture of her in the paper she looked to be in her early twenties and even covered in dust; soaking wet Lady Murasaki could see that she was in fact very attractive.

Lecter had always coveted pretty things, including herself. In the papers from eight years ago in almost every picture Hannibal had been accompanied by a stunning woman. Lady Murasaki had never been jealous when she saw those pictures, but now the unfamiliar feeling pumped through her veins. Along with jealousy came hatred and betrayal, Lady Murasaki was surprised, how could she hate someone that she had never even met?

Clarice Starling was an FBI agent; it was her job to capture criminals Murasaki kept on reminding herself. She was jealous though, jealous of this young beautiful girl. And more than anything Murasaki felt betrayed by Hannibal.

She knew she shouldn't be feeling this way, it wasn't as though she and him had been married, or even made love, but there was still apart of her that did love him, perhaps a larger part of her heart than she had suspected.

Looking again at the picture of Clarice, who in her ugly cheap dirty clothes still radiated youth. Lady Murasaki felt threatened by this girl-woman. Who in all logic was merely doing her job, albeit an impossible job, but in Clarice's strong stance she could see what Lecter could have become enamored with.

Hannibal rarely leapt at the chance to help his captors, but something in this Starling had made him do so. Murasaki calmed herself with a cup of tea, she shouldn't be feeling this way about someone forty years her junior. She had had her chance with Hannibal all those years ago, and even if there was something between Hannibal and his little bird she was an officer of the law and he was an infamous serial killer.

Lady Murasaki silently promised to herself not to dwell on this subject any longer throwing away the papers. For some reason though the next day after she came home from the market she was not at all surprised to see that she had picked up a newspaper entitled _"Bride of Frankenstein"_ with another picture of Clarice Starling on the front.

* * *

Reviews are nice… 


	2. Pascal Popil and the Dream

Hiya readers I'm back with a second chapter! Woohoo! I would really like to thank my reviewers and other readers who didn't review for taking a look at this little brainchild of mine. 

**I would like to thank personally:**

**Smithsbabe65 your compliment on my writing talent at such a young age means more to me than you could possibly imagine. **

**Kudva18: I'm glad that you like my unique idea, I was a little nervous at first that the readers wouldn't like it very much.**

**Callisote1791: Thanks so much for your review, I'm glad that you're interested.**

Thanks you guys you Brightened up my day more that you could possibly imagine. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Pascal Popil and The Dream**

Despite the promise that she made to herself Lady Murasaki did not throw away the newspaperas she should have. Instead she found herself zooming through the article over and over, going down back to the market to buy more American papers. Lady Murasaki refused to admit that she had become obsessed with Hannibal once again, let alone in love with him.

Still a week later when Pascal Popil stopped by her apartment for tea he entered a chaotic room of old newspapers photos, instead of the calming atmosphere that he was expecting. Lady Murasaki hidden behind a flurry of newspapers in only a robe didn't even register his invasion. Finally after clearing his throat she looked up. At first a startled look came over her face only to be replaced with a warm smile.

"Pascal, what are you doing here? Surely it cannot already be Thursday can it?" her accented voice tilted with each word.

Ignoring her question Pascal reached down and read the title of the nearest paper. 'I guess I shouldn't have been surprised' he thought. On the front page of the Paper was the title **Starling of the FBI **a photo of a muddy red haired woman stood next too a picture of the one criminal that Pascal had never been able to apprehend, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

Even in the grainy photo he could see the odd hue of Lecter's maroon eyes. So entranced by the photo was he that he didn't even notice Lady Murasaki come up beside him. "He hasn't aged at all has he?" Her voice was sad, and regretful, Lady Murasaki looked down at the photo her brow furrowed as her eyes also darted to the face of the FBI agent.

"No, no he hasn't changed at all has he?" Pascal's was mixed, he could remember over twenty years ago when he had first met Lecter and Lady Murasaki how they had both fascinated him so. He had never wanted to personally apprehend Lecter but his duty called for it especially after Lecter began his revenge.

Turning away from Lecter's haunting stare, Pascal looked again at Lady Murasaki, she looked thinner, paler, her gray-black hair that she usually had styled perfectly was mussed and her eyes had bags under them. Glancing once more at Lecter's face he saw just how deep the grip he had into the Lady was.

Clearing his throat once more "Madame please allow me to take you out for a bite to eat, you look like it would do you some good." She began to protest weakly. "Please Madame, I am an old man now and it would give no pleasure than to have your company on this day."

She smiled her features instantly softening, "You always knew the ways to sway me Pascal. Just give me a moment to change into something more suitable."

As her figure disappeared into another room Pascal cleared off some of the papers on one of the lounges, he glanced down again at the paper, reading the article. His English was by no means perfect but the article was easy enough to understand.

Most of what he read he had already heard at the station. Although in his late 60s Pascal was still called down to the police station to analyze a criminal or so. Today had been one of those few times. While down there he had gotten involved with one the older officers who remembered Lecter. He learned of this knew criminal Buffalo Bill, and the FBI agent Clarice Starling who seemed to be making such an uproar in the American Papers.

His eyes flitted to the picture of the woman who he assumed was Clarice Starling, she was muddy, and dressed like a man, but she had a very pretty almost beautiful face even when covered in mud. Her arm was raised in a position almost as if to strike something and a gritty determination shown through in the set of her jaw.

If Lecter had truly been interested some much in this girl to talk let alone help her there must have been something about her that reminded Lecter of Murasaki or Mischa. Glancing once more at the picture he definitely crossed out the Mischa possibility, although this Starling was young her eyes held no childish innocence.

Pascal's musing were interrupted by the return of Lady Murasaki, folding up the paper he placed it back on the lounge where it slipped through one of the cushions, forgotten.

* * *

He took her to a quiet but stylish cafe near the heart of the city. As she glanced through the menu he found himself gazing at her face. She was still so beautiful after all these years, her oval face have a few wrinkles here and there but they looked natural on her, made her look more human instead of the exotic deity that he thought she was when he first met her. She was still very slim and her hair was streaked through with gray and white. 

Shaking his head he knew that it had been more than her beauty that Pascal Popil, Hannibal and Robert Lecter had been attracted to. It was her calm and serene personality. She was delicate but immeasurably strong at the same time. Pascal loved her but knew that it was not meant to be, so close friends they were instead, and Pascal found that he treasured this bond even more than any love that he could've had with her.

Thinking back to the picture of Clarice Starling he at first could find nothing in common between the two. Starling seemed gritty and tough from; she seemed plain and unrefined compared to the beauty in front of him. Sure she was very pretty maybe even beautiful, in a distinctly American way.

He explored his mind, why did Hannibal help her? Perhaps he was over thinking it too much Lecter enjoyed playing with people's head, and chances were he was merely playing with the poor girl by sending her to find one of his former victim's heads. He pushed away the thought before turning to gaze at the lovely woman in front of him.

* * *

Lady Murasaki felt naked being outside, her skin unable to hide her secrets. Focusing at her menu once more she flicked her eyes sup every now and then to see that Pascal was openly staring at her, a serious look in his eyes. Lady Murasaki was used to people staring at her in Japan it had been because of her status and beauty. In France it had been because of her exotic looks, and foreign beauty. 

Lady Murasaki let herself fall into her thoughts after Pascal's influence. As always lately she found herself thinking of Hannibal. He was mute when Robert first brought him home, a quiet, thin boy of thirteen but looked only to be eleven because of years of malnutrition she guessed. Although he had been mute she never saw anyone with the kind of intelligence that he possessed. Sometimes it had even scared her; it scared her that he might use his brilliance to do horrible things, which he'd gone onto do.

Lady Murasaki remembered when he first began talking his words were always clear and articulate and he spoke without an accent despite the fact French was far from his first language. But his voice still held a metallic rasp to it, and still did up until the day that he disappeared. 'I wonder does he still have that rasp...'

She was tugged away from her thoughts though when Pascal cleared his throat, motioning for her to order. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on things of the past, she should really stop.

* * *

It was late by the time Lady Murasaki returned home, Popil had been right. It was a beautiful afternoon; perhaps she had been spending too much time inside. Flipping on a light switch she immediately saw Lecter's face once again. 

A tidal wave of emotion came at her, shaking her head she forced it away she was to old to be feeling this way over a man twenty years her junior. And on a whim she picked up the papers, and shoved them into the wastebasket lighting a match and incinerating them in her kitchen.

She dreamed that night. Lady Murasaki hadn't dreamed for almost eight years, eight years ago her dreams were of Hannibal, and before that she had dreams of Hannibal killing that awful man, Grutas.

But that night she dreamt of Hannibal, he was not young as he had appeared in her dreams before but he looked as he did now with the lines and creases around his eyes and mouth. They seemed to be in a cage of some sort, bars all around them he was dressed in a pair of white pajamas. He was not looking at her, and when Lady Murasaki tried to call out to him she found that she couldn't.

Suddenly the scene changed he was in a tuxedo looking so handsome, his lithe body was cocked to the side strength thrumming throughout his stance. Suddenly she saw him reach out his arm she began to walk towards it, his hand extended more and she saw it pass through her, gasping soundlessly she turned to see what Hannibal was looking at what she saw was herself, but not really herself. It was like her face was being replaced by Starling's.

Looking around the scene changed once again and she was in a traditional Kimono and her late husband Robert was giving her away at her wedding but looking up she saw that she had been led into a cage. A person stood at the other side. It was Pascal she tried to call out to him but he couldn't hear her. Glancing around she saw Lecter leading away the nameless woman, she saw Hannibal glance back once more at her, before turning away unseeing eyes.

The bars around her disappeared and she tried to run after Hannibal but he was merely a speck in the distance. Lady Murasaki awoke with a shriek, it was still dark and by the time she managed to fall asleep that night she had forgotten her dream.

* * *

The next day Lady's Muraski's promise to herself once again failed her as she set out to the market to replace the magazines that she had lost before.

* * *

Again reviews are nice, but you don't have to if you don't, but if you I send you love, and I send more love if you give mme constructive Criticism. 


	3. Billy et les fleurs

**Hello all I'd love to thank my wonderful, beautiful, and kind reviewers for your praise and wisdom. You really have absolutely no idea how much every single thing that you said made my day. **

**So this time I'm afraid I'm giving you a bit of a short chapter, most authors would call this a filler chapter, but in my opinion it's a character growth chapter for Lady Murasaki. I hope my you will respond well to it. **

Disclaimer: I own nothing nor profit anything from this story and am merely doing this for my own curiosity and pleasure.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Buffalo Bill and the Flowers**

So much had changed in Paris since Hannibal Lecter had left the city, Lady Murasaki had seen the prosperous age after the war spread throughout the streets and a renaissance of new ideas flood the streets over the years. And as much as she welcomed new ideas Lady Murasaki often found herself walking about parts of the city that had yet to change with the times.

On this cloudy day she found herself in a quiet little café near the Tuileries Gardens that Lady Murasaki had not visited for a long while. In front of her was a steaming cup of tea the remains of a meal and a newspaper that the Japanese woman was reading keenly. The paper was flipped open to an article, the print in English.

Lady Murasaki had never considered herself a political expert but at that moment she wished she new more about the American Government, specifically the Senate. Another girl had been abducted by Buffalo Bill, she was the sixth one so far.

Her name was of little importance to Lady Murasaki, but the American Tabloids were certainly wallowing in it. A picture of a pretty but heavy set girl was in the center her name was Catherine Baker Martin, from what she read her mother was a senator from the state of Tennessee.

This article mentioned little of Hannibal but it had caught Lady Murasaki's eye when she saw the name Buffalo Bill. Had she seen the article in any other time she probably wouldn't have looked twice, but still this was the man the Hannibal was being asked to identify.

As she read through the article Murasaki found herself becoming more and more disgusted not only by Buffalo Bill but also by the American Press. Although Lady Murasaki was no psychologists she saw that Bill was a very disturbed man, with an insatiable lust for blood, his killings had no motives unlike Hannibal's first murders had been. Whatever could drive a man to kill and skin women?

Buffalo Bill was twisted to say the least, the papers did not specify if the girls had been dead when Bill had begun to skin them, and Murasaki prayed that he had killed them before inflicting such a torture upon their bodies.

As Lady Murasaki stared out of the window her thoughts once again carried her to Hannibal, she hadn't known him as a child, but when Robert had brought her home his eyes held a quiet intelligence that she had never seen before. As Hannibal had grown his mind had grown vengeful and calculating, his dark past revealed to Murasaki, and through his eyes she had seen horrors that she did not even imagine existed.

Maybe like her Hannibal Buffalo Bill also had a sinister past, shaking her head Murasaki stopped herself before she could ponder on a childhood so horrible it would cause someone to slaughter and skin people. Buffalo Bill was nothing like Hannibal she refused to compare the two.

To her Bill was sadistic and unrefined, whereas Hannibal always would always be in her mind polite and courteous. A part of her still saw him as the shy mute boy that she had met so long ago, who was eager to help her and Chiyoh arrange her flowers.

Arranging flowers brought back a memory from just before Robert died. Hannibal had still been mute although he had been living with his Aunt and Uncle for several months then. Lady Murasaki and Chiyoh had been passing the time arranging flowers and speaking of Chiyoh's ever nearing engagement.

When he had first entered the room she tried to coax him out of his shell by speaking in a few Japanese words. Speaking to Hannibal had been very relaxing she found he did not judge, at least if he did he was unable to say anything.

She still remembered that day perfectly…

_Chiyoh was sitting behind s screen playing out a tune on the lute, when Hannibal had wondered in looking a bit lost and inquisitive. Lady Murasaki had not been able to speak with Hannibal as much as she would've liked to and saw now as the perfect time. _

_She bowed her head toward him good manners were almost the same in every culture He stood before her looking about the room soaking it in, his maroon eyes darting from the slow, rising smoke of the incense and the easel she kept in the corner for her calligraphy. After a moment she invited him to sit across from her. _

_It was usually normal for her to sit in silence with another person but she could feel his eyes roving about her body resting on her face, breast, and hands. _

"_If you do not want French or English or Italian, we could use some Japanese words, like kieuseru. It means 'disappear'." The word disappear made her think of her lost home and family in far, far away Japan. _

_Suddenly she heard herself telling Hannibal of her lost home in Hiroshima, her hands working quickly moving the flowers, picking at the stems. She looked deep into his maroon eyes, her lips spilling out more words than she knew._

"_My world of Hiroshima was gone in a flash. Your world was torn form you too. Now you and I have the world we make-together. In this moment. In this room."_

_She tore her eyes away form his haunting stare. What was she doing she hadn't even voiced her grief with her husband or Chiyoh, and here she was spilling everything out to this boy who she barely even knew? _

She began to rearrange the flowers again offering some to Hannibal commenting on his drawings. Lady Murasaki remembered him cutting his thumb after this. She remembered sewing it up, his expression did not change throughout the whole ordeal, his eyes glazed and mind far away.

It was in that moment that Murasaki bonded with that boy, his hand nestled between hers, the drops of blood on the white silk Kimono, and that breathless look in his eyes. She remembered taking him up later to the room of her ancestors where she kept the swords and armor of her ancestor Date Masamune. The swords he had been fascinated with at first sight, the short sword was the first weapon that he had ever killed with.

Oil of Cloves she remembered saying, after Hannibal began speaking she remembered teaching him Kendo, my she had been so young then. Now Lady Murasaki would barely arc her sword without feeling a slight pain in her joints.

Shaking out of her head Lady Murasaki looked at the sky it was dusk. Her plan to go to the Jeu de Paume was impossible. She sighed, there was always tomorrow.

Paying her tab she glanced once more at the picture of Catherine Baker Martin, earlier in the day she felt almost nothing to this women's plite, but an after hours of thinking, and remembering a wave of pity, remorse, and sadness came over her at the sight of the doomed young women's fate, and she really began to hope that her Hannibal would help Clarice Starling catch Buffalo Bill before it was to late.

* * *

**Reviews are nice…**


End file.
